Not Leaving
by BlackBandit111
Summary: When resurrected Arthur finds the book Merlin wrote about them, he is wordless. Instead of saying anything, Arthur takes Merlin for a boat ride on a certain lake to prove a point. Friendship. Based off a pic I saw on tumblr. Reincarnation fic, modern day. Slash version in chapter 2.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: Saw the fic picture on tumblr and agnnnn my feeels why oh my god why?! This is what happened. This beautiful fanfic. I hope you enjoy!**_

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It had been a long week- the kind of week that drags on without end and time limps along like an injured bug trying to crawl across a table. Arthur Pendragon hadn't had one of these particular weeks in a long, long while- not since he'd come back to find the world changed (and his amount of paperwork significantly decreased). Now, there were such things as TV and Doctor Who and other sorts of new things to discover that claimed most of his time and energy. He knew Merlin worked, but he didn't know at what, or doing what, and personally Merlin always looked so incredibly exhausted when he came home that Arthur didn't ask.

It was a surprise when Arthur had finished the last Harry Potter book Merlin had gotten for him, was bored (yet Merlin wouldn't let him out anymore, since the time he had offered to show a few bystanders his expert swordsmanship and they had run) and decided to sniff around for something else to read. He had never been an avid reader as a child nor as an adult, always finding the scrolls dull and the tales repetitive and predictable, but these new stories…

Were really something. Usually he enjoyed reading about all the history he had missed- Merlin often provided him textbooks from God-knew where (Arthur just assumed he conjured them, since he was a sorcerer and conjured most things he wanted) but he also enjoyed the stories about Greek gods and new places he'd never even fathomed. He hadn't even known that it was possible to sail so far west and live, and not disappear into the vast blue ocean known now as the Atlico Ocean (or something. He wasn't really paying attention when Merlin taught him the names, only the geography, which had seemed important to him at the time.)

He considered going into Merlin's bedroom, but that was Merlin's own space and Arthur had only just learned that it was impolite in the real world to go sneaking about places you weren't welcomed (and that his kingly privileges were completely disregarded here- Merlin was so mad at him for tackling that post man for trespassing…) Instead, he completely passed Merlin's personal space, the kitchen and the living room, knowing that those places wouldn't hold any books. (And if he was being honest, the micro-cave and tunnel-vision intimidated him a bit.)

He paused outside of Merlin's study, listening. He was fairly sure Merlin had gone out for groceries or something along those lines (he truly needed to pay attention more) and was just making sure that Merlin wouldn't come up with something snarky if he was doing paperwork in there and Arthur was mistaken. He heard nothing, acute hearing not picking up the rustling of an...what was it...pan and paper, nor the slight shuffle of Merlin's seat as he shifted.

Turning the doorknob (still so amazing, locking the doors without the latches) and gently pushing open the door, Arthur took in the warm spring breeze fluttering through the window, the still stacks of paper atop desks, and the small satchel that Merlin insisted carrying with him wherever he went. The afternoon sun left patterns dancing across the floor from the curtains and the whole room smelled of old papers and comforting woodsmoke, though there was no fireplace.

Recognizing the satchel as something that may hold a new book or at least something entertaining, Arthur crossed the room, careful to intricately tip-toe around any stacks of files that may have been haphazardly thrown.

Picking it up, he flipped open the flap, unzipping the zipper after a moment's consideration as to how. Reaching inside and groping for a familiar binding, his fingertips met something bound smoothly and cooly, and he grasped it and pulled it out eagerly, turning it over onto the cover side.

_The Legend of King Arthur_ stared back at him.

Blinking, Arthur squinted at the words, as though they may change if he gazed at them hard enough. They stayed the same, though, in bold calligraphy letters: _The Legend of King Arthur._

Humming and wondering absently why Merlin may have this in his bag, of all places, Arthur began thumbing through the pages, his heart thudding faster within his chest. He had read all the other books on himself that Merlin had been willing to provide, and was slightly wary of what he may find about his lovely wife and his most trusted knight in this version.

The book, he discovered, was spectacularly illustrated- the pictures jumped from the page like memories that played out in front of Arthur's eyes. The greens and browns and golden rays of the sun seemed to come to life before him, and two silhouettes crashed through the foliage, the position of their limbs indicating their rush. Beneath their feet the leaves were illustrated as crunching, the bushes behind the two figures shattered like glass. Arthur could hear their crashing over the pounding of his own pulse in his ears.

Turning the page almost reverently, he scanned the words, not quite absorbing them but not disregarding them completely. Again, crisp images threw themselves from the book and into Arthur's mind, a dark haired young man crouching in front of a fallen, pure white unicorn-

Arthur's mouth went dry. His eyes widened.

He licked his lips, flicking to another random page. This, too, had an illustration: two young men were sitting side by side, the darker haired of the two holding a boot and scrubbing viciously as the second, a blonde, had his arm half slung around the other's shoulders as if about to pull him into a headlock-

Fingers trembling, they slowly turned to the back to check the number of pages- 1, 756. Swallowing, he flicked through the last few, reading the last paragraph of the last page. The words made his eyes burn, and his there was a sudden tightness in his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut, closing the book slowly.

The book was terrible engaging, written in first person. The reader received every emotion, thought and idea of the author. Arthur's hands shook and he clutched the book closer as he opened it again.

_"I placed my hand against his forehead, his face pale and features relaxed. He looked terribly at peace, but it was a mere veil; I could tell that it was a mournful peace, a silent peace that one may find in widows who have come to closure. My other hand came to clutch at his cold, lifeless fingers, laced together upon his chest. Truly, he didn't appear dead; he could have been asleep, just like any other morning. The dawn was bright enough and the air was hot enough and energy buzzed around me. But I couldn't. I couldn't._

_I cried shamelessly, my face crumpling as I grasped at his hand like a child, brushing any stray strands of golden hair out of his face. As I stepped back, I lifted my hand, summoning the magic that had come so naturally to me but could not save my dearest friend. At least I could give him the departure he deserved. I faltered- I could not force the incantation past my lips. I took a shuddering breath and tried again, and the boat gently drifted away from the shore, and I stood knee-high in lake water, watching it drift towards the Isle of the Blessed._

_Once I figured it suitably far out, I muttered another spell, and the boat ignited. I watched as the flames licked the wood eagerly, all to happy to consume the remnants of my best friend- the one King Arthur, the true King of Camelot and the greatest man I have and will ever know. Then, holding Excalibur, his cherished sword, one last time, the place his own hand would have been had he been wielding it instead of myself, I took a step back to give more power to my throw, and hurled it outwards towards the lake with all my might._

_A muscled arm erupted from the water, fingers outstretched as they reached. As Arthur Pendragon sturdily took hold of his sword, his arm sank back into the water._

_I cried. I collapsed on the ground and absolutely sobbed, unable to face- unable to admit- that I had failed. I know Arthur will come back someday- when Albion's need is greatest- but he is my very best friend. I love him. He was my brother by kinship and not blood, my companion, my other half. I feel lost. But all things that are lost must be found again, as my mother always says, so I will wait. And when he rises, I will stay the same, just so I can see the look on his face when he says, astonished, "you haven't changed at all!"_

_Because that's what brothers do. They wait."_

Wordlessly, at a loss, Arthur turned the book back over to the cover. Below the title, in small, loopy print, was written:_ By Merlin Emrys._

Pursing his lips, Arthur took a few unsteady breaths, trying to calm the frantic beating of his heart trying to escape his ribcage. He swiped at a stray tear, glancing around to make sure no one had seen, although he was alone. Silently, he put the book back, turned, and strode from the room.

He didn't want to read so much anymore. Now, he was in the mood for a walk to clear his thoughts, and he figured that as long as he stayed away from people and didn't speak and wore one of those jacket things, Merlin couldn't complain.

Arthur shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, finding the day chillier despite the earlier warm breeze. Perhaps it was just his hands. He didn't know.

The book, firstly, was written beautifully, intricate details and raw emotion and unveiled thoughts all sewn together to make pages and words and sentences. Arthur had no doubt that everything that he and Merlin had ever done together- hunts, banquets, hell, maybe even their banter- was in that 1, 756 page textbook. It had been a textbook, no matter what Arthur tried to tell himself. He knew Merlin's druid name was Emrys, and he also knew what Merlin did for a living. He had spotted papers in the bag.

He was a college professor. His major was probably in the Legends of King Arthur. And he had written that book from his very heart and soul and was now trying to get people to see what really happened. How Lancelot and Gwaine and Percy had all come to be in his ranks. Morgana. Mordred. His father. Gwen and Lancelot's affair.

All of it.

Arthur swallowed down the feeling crawling its way up his throat, finding putting one foot in front of the other difficult. The illustrations, then, were no doubt made by Merlin, too: the detail and accuracy had simply been too overwhelming for any normal person to do. Merlin may have even used magic, but Arthur was dubious about that. It didn't seem like the kind of thing you used magic to aid you in.

The times were seldom where Arthur comforted Merlin- now and back in Camelot. Merlin had always been the one there to catch you when you fell and help you up, never the one to need the brushing off. That always seemed to be Arthur. Merlin had always been strangely wise yet incredibly stupid all at once, and Arthur could recall how it had confused him so. Oh, if only he had known…

How things would have been different.

In the end, it hadn't been hard to rent the boat, nor to get it out on the lake. Merlin had even been accommodating, packing water bottles and other sorts of food that Arthur didn't care to try and remember the names of. Although Merlin had agreed, his movements were stiff and he was terribly quiet, which revealed just how uncomfortable Merlin was with this idea.

"We don't have to, you know," Arthur said honestly, but really he wanted to do this. He knew what Merlin was afraid of, and wanted to rectify it, if he could.

"I'm fine," came the slightly clipped response, but Arthur knew it was more from anxiousness than anger, and let it be. He had grown wise in those long years of solitary sleep and spoke no more on the subject. If Merlin truly had not wanted to go, he would have seized the opportunity. Now, he was determined.

They silently exited the house, walking side by side down the familiar path towards the bridge that they would go around to get to the shore. The walk was about ten minutes, and they strode in silence, hands in pockets and heads down. Some things didn't need saying.

Carefully stepping off the road and onto the well-worn path through the woods, Merlin led, Arthur following close behind. His crystal eyes studied the raven head in front of him pensively, wondering if this would work. It had to work. He could pull it off.

Couldn't he?

They reached the boat, and Arthur clambered in, getting comfortable as Merlin climbed in at a slower pace. Arthur had rarely seen reluctance on Merlin before, but now it hung from him like a disease.

After a murmured spell from Merlin, the boat was gently drifting, and Arthur was using the paddles to give them a little space from the shore. Merlin sat, immobile, hands in his lap and eyes firmly locked on the seat in front of him. Arthur wasn't sure if it was seasickness of bad memories that was trying to overwhelm his friend. Maybe both.

But Arthur was fairly sure that Merlin wasn't seasick.

Swallowing, he put down his oars, letting the boat glide for a moment. Then he took a deep breath and summoned a smile. "See, this isn't so bad, is it? Good day for it." He glanced up, shielding his eyes from the shining sun.

Merlin nodded, eyes clouded. "Yes. Arthur, I-" but before Merlin could finish speaking and before Arthur could think to stop, he had launched himself off the small boat and into the chilly waters of the lake below.

Underwater, the world was muffled, like everything was going in slow motion. Fish lazily swam by, the current languidly tossing him around. His hair was in his face, but he didn't care. Closing his eyes and letting out some bubbles, Arthur waited. Three. Four. Five.

He counted until he could hold his breath no longer, resurfacing and hauling himself back into the boat as fast as he had tumbled out. He pushed his hair from his face, and paled from what met his eyes.

Merlin was on his feet, face alabaster and cerulean eyes wide. His expression was that of unmitigated panic, breathing ragged and heavy. His hands were trembling, and Merlin's whole body was wracked with little shudders. Arthur licked his lips as Merlin literally fell into the seat in front of his best friend, eyes still impossibly wide. They had a decidedly haunted glint within them.

Arthur licked his lips again, a salty tinge sitting on them. "Look at me, Merlin," he said, but Merlin didn't reply, stare still empty. Arthur felt a shiver dance its way down his own spine. "Look at me, Merlin," he said more sternly.

Arthur took both sides of Merlin's jaw in his hands, gently angling his face up. Merlin's eyes were shining- tears, Arthur belatedly realized. The cerulean eyes were glittering with unshed tears. "Merlin," he soothed, voice nearly a whisper, "I promise, I am not going anywhere."

Merlin swallowed, and his adam's apple bobbed as he nodded. His jaw was clenched and his eyes were focused anywhere but Arthur's face. Arthur's hands slid to the back of Merlin's neck to encourage him to glance up.

"Hey, look at me," Arthur coaxed, and Merlin did, his face still stark white. "I swear, Merlin," he whispered, a small smile lifting the corners of his lips, "I'm not leaving."

Merlin swallowed, and when he spoke, he sounded very small. "Never again? What if something happens? You...came back this time, but... What if…" he bit his lip. "What if I don't believe you...right away?"

Arthur smiled kindly, and his blue eyes twinkled. "Never again. I promise. I promise. And I'll wait. Because that's what brothers do. They wait."

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_****Coughs**...Well. How was that? Good? Bad? Okay? Please leave me a comment on your thoughts and thanks for reading!**_


	2. Not Leaving Slash

_**Hello again! So I had a request by a couple of friends to do a slash version of this, so please, I hope you enjoy! If you don't like slash, well, don't read this chapter.**_

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It had been a long week- the kind of week that drags on without end and time limps along like an injured bug trying to crawl across a table. Arthur Pendragon hadn't had one of these particular weeks in a long, long while- not since he'd come back to find the world changed (and his amount of paperwork significantly decreased). Now, there were such things as TV and Doctor Who and other sorts of new things to discover that claimed most of his time and energy. He knew Merlin worked, but he didn't know at what, or doing what, and personally Merlin always looked so incredibly exhausted when he came home that Arthur didn't ask.

It was a surprise when Arthur had finished the last Harry Potter book Merlin had gotten for him, was bored (yet Merlin wouldn't let him out anymore, since the time he had offered to show a few bystanders his expert swordsmanship and they had run) and decided to sniff around for something else to read. He had never been an avid reader as a child nor as an adult, always finding the scrolls dull and the tales repetitive and predictable, but these new stories…

Were really something. Usually he enjoyed reading about all the history he had missed- Merlin often provided him textbooks from God-knew where (Arthur just assumed he conjured them, since he was a sorcerer and conjured most things he wanted) but he also enjoyed the stories about Greek gods and new places he'd never even fathomed. He hadn't even known that it was possible to sail so far west and live, and not disappear into the vast blue ocean known now as the Atlico Ocean (or something. He wasn't really paying attention when Merlin taught him the names, only the geography, which had seemed important to him at the time.)

He considered going into Merlin's bedroom, but that was Merlin's own space and Arthur had only just learned that it was impolite in the real world to go sneaking about places you weren't welcomed (and that his kingly privileges were completely disregarded here- Merlin was so mad at him for tackling that post man for trespassing…) Instead, he completely passed Merlin's personal space, the kitchen and the living room, knowing that those places wouldn't hold any books. (And if he was being honest, the micro-cave and tunnel-vision intimidated him a bit.)

He paused outside of Merlin's study, listening. He was fairly sure Merlin had gone out for groceries or something along those lines (he truly needed to pay attention more) and was just making sure that Merlin wouldn't come up with something snarky if he was doing paperwork in there. He heard nothing, acute hearing not picking up the rustling of an...what was it...pan and paper, nor the slight shuffle of Merlin's seat as he shifted.

Turning the doorknob (still so amazing, locking the doors without the latches) and gently pushing open the door, Arthur took in the warm spring breeze fluttering through the window, the still stacks of paper atop desks, and the small satchel that Merlin insisted carrying with him wherever he went. The afternoon sun left patterns dancing across the floor from the curtains and the whole room smelled of old papers and comforting woodsmoke, though there was no fireplace.

Recognizing the satchel as something that may hold a new book or at least something entertaining, Arthur crossed the room, careful to intricately tip-toe around any stacks of files that may have been haphazardly thrown. He was doing an elaborate dance around the multiple things in the room, from the bookshelves to the cluttered desks and other sorts of surfaces, but with his still sharp reflexes he made it to the bag without incident.

Picking it up, he flipped open the slight cover, unzipping the zipper after a moment's consideration as to how. Reaching inside and groping for a familiar binding, his fingertips met something bound smoothly and cooly, and he grasped it and pulled it out eagerly, turning it over onto the cover side.

_The Legend of King Arthur_ stared back at him.

Blinking, Arthur squinted at the words, as though they may change if he gazed at them hard enough. They stayed the same, though, in bold calligraphy letters: _The Legend of King Arthur._

Humming and wondering absently why Merlin may have this in his bag, of all places, Arthur began thumbing through the pages, his heart thudding faster within his chest. He had read all the other books on himself that Merlin had been willing to provide, and was slightly wary of what he may find about his lovely wife and his most trusted knight in this version.

The book, he discovered, was spectacularly illustrated- the pictures jumped from the page like memories that played out in front of Arthur's eyes. The greens and browns and golden rays of the sun seemed to come to life before him, and two silhouettes crashed through the foliage, the position of their limbs indicating their rush. Beneath their feet the leaves were illustrated as crunching, the bushes behind the two figures shattered like glass. Arthur could hear their crashing over the pounding of his own pulse in his ears.

Turning the page almost reverently, he scanned the words, not quite absorbing them but not disregarding them completely. Again, crisp images threw themselves from the book and into Arthur's mind, a dark haired young man crouching in front of a fallen, pure white unicorn-

Arthur's mouth went dry. His eyes widened.

He licked his lips, flicking to another random page. This, too, had an illustration: two young men were sitting side by side, the darker haired of the two holding a boot and scrubbing viciously as the second, a blonde, had his arm half slung around the other's shoulders as if about to pull him into a headlock-

Fingers trembling, they slowly turned to the back page to check the number of pages- 1, 756. Swallowing, he flicked through the last few, reading the last paragraph of the last page. The words made his eyes burn, and his there was a sudden tightness in his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut, closing the book slowly.

The book was terrible engaging, written in first person. The reader received every emotion, thought and idea of the author. Arthur's hands shook and he clutched the book closer as he opened it again.

_"I placed my hand against his forehead, his face pale and features relaxed. He looked terribly at peace, but it was a mere veil; I could tell that it was a mournful peace, a silent peace that one may find in widows who have come to closure. My other hand came to clutch at his cold, lifeless fingers, laced together upon his chest. Truly, he didn't appear dead; he could have been asleep, just like any other morning. The dawn was bright enough and the air was hot enough and energy buzzed around me. But I couldn't. I couldn't._

_I cried shamelessly, my face crumpling as I grasped at his hand like a child, brushing any stray strands of golden hair out of his face. As I stepped back, I lifted my hand, summoning the magic that had come so naturally to me but could not save my dearest friend. At least I could give him the departure he deserved. I faltered- I could not force the incantation past my lips. I took a shuddering breath and tried again, and the boat gently drifted away from the shore, and I stood knee-high in lake water, watching it drift towards the Isle of the Blessed._

_Once I figured it suitably far out, I muttered another spell, and the boat ignited. I watched as the flames licked the wood eagerly, all to happy to consume the remnants of my best friend- the one King Arthur, the true King of Camelot and the greatest man I have and will ever know. Then, holding Excalibur, his cherished sword, one last time, the place his own hand would have been had he been wielding it instead of myself, I took a step back to brace myself, and hurled it outwards towards the lake with all my might._

_A muscled arm erupted from the water, fingers outstretched as they reached for his beloved sword. As Arthur Pendragon sturdily took hold of his sword, his arm sank back into the water._

_I cried. I collapsed on the ground and absolutely sobbed, unable to face- unable to admit- that I had failed. I know Arthur will come back someday- when Albion's need is greatest- but he is my very best friend. I love him. He was my brother by kinship and not blood, my companion, my other half. I feel lost. But all things that are lost must be found again, as my mother always says, so I will wait. And when he rises, I will stay the same, just so I can see the look on his face when he says, astonished, "you haven't changed at all!"_

_Because that's what friends do. They wait."_

Wordlessly, at a loss, Arthur turned the book back over to the cover. Below the title, in small, loopy design, was written: By Merlin Emrys.

Pursing his lips, Arthur took a few steady breaths, trying to calm the frantic beating of his heart trying to escape his ribcage. He swiped at a stray tear, glancing around to make sure no one had seen, although he was alone. Silently, he put the book back, turned, and strode from the room.

He didn't want to read so much anymore. Now, he was in the mood for a walk to clear his thoughts, and he figured that as long as he stayed away from people and didn't speak and wore one of those jacket things, Merlin couldn't complain.

Arthur shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, finding the day chillier despite the earlier warm breeze. Perhaps it was just his hands. He didn't know.

The book, firstly, was written beautifully, intricate details and raw emotion and unveiled thoughts all sewn together to make pages and words and sentences. Arthur had no doubt that everything that he and Merlin had ever done together- hunts, banquets, hell, maybe even their banter- was in that 1, 756 page textbook. It had been a textbook, no matter what Arthur tried to tell himself. He knew Merlin's druid name was Emrys, and he also knew what Merlin did for a living. He had spotted papers in the bag.

He was a college professor. His major was probably in the Legends of King Arthur. And he had written that book from his very heart and soul and was now trying to get people to see what really happened. How Lancelot and Gwaine and Percy had all come to be in his ranks. Morgana. Mordred. His father. Gwen and Lancelot's affair.

All of it.

Arthur swallowed down the feeling crawling its way up his throat, finding putting one foot in front of the other difficult. The illustrations, then, were no doubt made by Merlin, too: the detail and accuracy had simply been too overwhelming for any normal person to do. Merlin may have even used magic, but Arthur was dubious about that. It didn't seem like the kind of thing you used magic to aid you in.

The times were seldom where Arthur comforted Merlin- now and back in Camelot. Merlin had always been the one there to catch you when you fell and help you up, never the one to need the brushing off. That always seemed to be Arthur. Merlin had always been strangely wise yet incredibly stupid all at once, and Arthur could recall how it had confused him so. Oh, if only he had known…

How things would have been different.

In the end, it hadn't been hard to rent the boat, nor to get it out on the lake. Merlin had even been accommodating, packing water bottles and other sorts of food that Arthur didn't care to try and remember the names of. Although Merlin had agreed, his movements were stiff and he was terribly quiet, which revealed just how uncomfortable Merlin was with this idea.

"We don't have to, you know," Arthur said honestly, but really he wanted to do this. He knew what Merlin was afraid of, and wanted to rectify it, if he could.

"I'm fine," came the slightly clipped response, but Arthur knew it was more from anxiousness than anger, and let it be. He had grown wise in those long years of solitary sleep and spoke no more on the subject. If Merlin truly had not wanted to go, he would have seized the opportunity. Now, he was determined.

They silently exited the house, walking side by side down the familiar path towards the bridge that they would go around to get to the shore. The walk was about ten minutes, and they strode in silence, hands in pockets and heads down. Some things didn't need saying.

Carefully stepping off the road and onto the well-worn path through the woods, Merlin led, Arthur following close behind. His crystal eyes studied the raven head in front of him pensively, wondering if this would work. It had to work. He could pull it off.

Couldn't he?

They reached the boat, and Arthur clambered in, getting comfortable as Merlin climbed in at a slower pace. Arthur had rarely seen reluctance on Merlin before, but now it hung from him like a disease.

After a murmured spell from Merlin, the boat was gently drifting, and Arthur was using the paddles to give them a little space from the shore. Merlin sat, immobile, hands in his lap and eyes firmly locked on the seat in front of him. Arthur wasn't sure if it was seasickness of bad memories that was trying to overwhelm his friend. Maybe both.

But Arthur was fairly sure that Merlin wasn't seasick.

Swallowing, he put down his oars, letting the boat glide for a moment. Then he took a deep breath and summoned a smile. "See, this isn't so bad, is it? Good day for it." He glanced up, shielding his eyes from the shining sun.

Merlin nodded, eyes clouded. "Yes. Arthur, I-" but before Merlin could finish speaking and before Arthur could think to stop, he had launched himself off the small boat and into the chilly waters of the lake below.

Underwater, the world was muffled, like everything was going in slow motion. Fish lazily swam by, the current languidly tossing him around. His hair was in his face, but he didn't care. Closing his eyes and letting out some bubbles, Arthur waited. Three. Four. Five.

He counted until he could hold his breath absolutely no longer, resurfacing and hauling himself back into the boat as fast as he had tumbled out. He pushed his hair from his face, and paled from what met his eyes.

Merlin was on his face, face alabaster and cerulean eyes wide. His face was full of unmitigated panic, breathing ragged and heavy. His hands were trembling, and Merlin's whole body was wracked with little shudders. Arthur licked his lips as Merlin literally fell into the seat in front of his best friend, eyes still impossibly wide. They had a decidedly haunted glint within them. Merlin's shaking increased.

Arthur licked his lips again, a salty tinge sitting on them. "Look at me, Merlin," he said, but Merlin didn't reply, stare still empty. Arthur felt a shiver dance its way down his own spine. "Look at me, Merlin," he said more sternly, but Merlin still didn't respond.

Arthur took both sides of Merlin's jaw in his hands, gently angling his face up Merlin's eyes were glittering with unshed tears. "Merlin," he soothed, voice nearly a whisper, "I promise, I am not going anywhere."

Merlin swallowed, and his adam's apple bobbed as he nodded. His jaw was clenched and his eyes were focused anywhere but Arthur's face. Arthur's hands slid to the back of Merlin's neck.

"Hey, eyes on me," Arthur coaxed, and Merlin's wide orbs found his own sparkling ones. Merlin's face was still stark white. "I swear, Merlin," he whispered, a small smile lifting the corners of his lips, "I'm not leaving."

Merlin swallowed, and when he spoke, he sounded very small. "Never again? What if something happens? What if…" he bit his lip. "I don't believe you...right away?"

Arthur smiled kindly, and his blue eyes twinkled. "Never again. I promise. I promise. And I'll wait. Because that's what friends do. They wait."

Merlin's magic shimmered in the air around them, washing over Arthur in waves. Merlin's hair glimmered in the sunlight, the water glittering and reflecting the crystal blue of the sky. Bees buzzed passively, birds gently calling to each other. The wind tousled Arthur's hair and kissed his cheeks.

He took a deep breath, and before he could think, before he could hesitate, he did what he couldn't all those years ago: he leaned in and pressed his own lips to Merlin's.

* * *

_**Thanks again and please leave me a comment on your thoughts!**_


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